Fowl Omens
by Kerowyn6
Summary: The government is planning a secret dig site in Tara, Ireland. You all know what this means: our favorite fairies are in danger of detection. So enter twenty-year old Artemis Fowl, millionaire, genius, criminal mastermind. And who discovered these plans? None other than thirteen-year-old Margie Device (because Margie Pulsifer just doesn't work) who has an odd 'skill' with tech...


**Hey everyone! This is my second fanfic! My first is in the Ranger's Apprentice section: Black Shafted Arrows. Although I enjoy Ranger's Apprentice, Terry Pratchett is and always will be the BEST AUTHOR EVER! Great quote by him: "Five exclamation marks—the sure sign of a diseased mind.**

** No one comment on what I just did. Please.**

** So, all in all, this is a fanfic crossover between Good Omens and Artemis Fowl. I seriously hope someone decides to read this. I also wonder if anyone other than me has even read both books. I hope so.**

** Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. Margie is not from either book, she is instead based of a friend of mine.**

** Hope you enjoy, and PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE review!**

"Now," came the cool voice from across the table, "I am going to ask you once more, and that is all. Did you or did you not discover secret governmental plans relating to the blueprints of a dig site in Tara, Ireland?" 

Margie shivered. All this trouble with the freaky person across from her simply because she'd clicked on the wrong ad. She nodded.

"Yes, sir." She wasn't sure what the 'sir' was about. It seemed to have added itself onto the end of her sentence without her noticing.

"And how exactly did you discover them?"

She took a deep breath. "Well… I-was-trying-to-access-Netfix-to-watch-Pretty-Litt le-Liars-but-I'm-not-supposed-to-because-my-parent s-think-it's-stupid-so-I-was-on-my-friend-Jordan's -account-tring-not-to-let-my-parents-see-and-then- I-heard-footsteps-on-the-stairs-and-I-fumbled-with -the-screen-and-acidentally-clicked-on-an-ad-for-h ouse-plants-and-then-I-managed-to-turn-the-iPad-of f-just-as-my-sister-Clara-opened-the-door-and-got- her-teddy-bear-and-left-and-when-I-turned-the-iPad -back-on-it-was-on-the-government's-private-site-w hich-I-had-somehow-hacked-onto-and-it-was-showing- plans-for-a-dig-site-in-Tara-Ireland."

"And how exactly did you manage to hack onto the government's site and access private information?"

"I don't know," she replied, "Sometimes it just happens to me. Once when I clicked on an ad for Gospel music it took me to a site for parents planning their kid's birthday party and ordered me a jumpy house."

"Ah. That is certainly odd."

She nodded.

"And even odder because I fail to see the connection between house plants and Gospel music."

She didn't say anything, just stared at the young man across the table from her. He was thin and pale, with black hair combed back. But his most startling feature were his eyes. They were dark blue, the color of sapphire. He looked vaguely familiar...

"Well," he said, standing up, "I'll just have to tell Anathema that I have no idea what incites your skill at hacking into websites on accident. Or at least," he added, half to himself, "I have no idea that I am willing to share with her... And now I must be going. I have urgent business to attend to. Have a nice day." And with that he swept out of the room.

Margie sat still for a moment, thinking about everything the day had brought. What was the relation between houseplants and Gospel music? She didn't know. No one knew. No one except the young man who had just left. Once again, almost out of habit, she probed the blank spot in her mind. This time, unlike all the other times, she got a result.

Images flickered past her vision. Storms, four motorcyclists biking down a highway, a man with dark glasses holding a potted plant... A houseplant! She jerked awake. So she had had some experience with houseplants! But what did the other images mean? Who was the man in the dark suit and glasses? And who was the man who had just left the room?

_

Thirteen years ago

"What should we call them?" the man asks.

The woman smiles at him.

"Let's call the blond one Clara. She looks like a Clara. And what about Marjorie for the other one? In honor of Tracy."

"In honor of Tracy," the man grimaces, "No child should be named in honor of Tracy."

"Good point," the woman giggles, "But Marjorie is such a nice name. If we don't want to call her Marjorie, can we call her Margie? It's similar."

"Margie," says the man, nodding, "Yes, it's a good name..."

Two years ago

Margie watches through the crack in her door.

"I don't care what Aziraphale says, Crowley! I am not going to send Margie and Clara off with a demon to learn how to harness their so-called powers!"

"What's wrong with demons?"

"Well, nothing in particular... but your houseplants! I don't want the twins witnessing that kind of cruelty!"

"There's nothing wrong with my houseplants," the male voice says stiffly.

"Still..."

"Fine! But don't blame me when Margie starts spouting prophecies or Clara begins messing up technology!"

Footsteps echo down the hallway.

Margie retreats to her bed and lies down, thinking.

_

Anathema Device, practical occultist, witch, and professional descendant, looked up as Artemis Fowl entered the room.

"It's no use," he said, throwing himself down on the wooden chair, "I can't find any connections. Gospel music and houseplants? I have no idea what triggers her reaction."

But Anathema had gone pale.

"Houseplants and... Gospel music?" She said slowly, "I think I know. Rustle up a couple of ads, will you? One to do with books and the other to do with angels."

Artemis complied.

Anathema crossed to the other side of the room and called to her daughter.

"Hey, Margie? Would you mind coming in here? We want to try something."

She turned to Artemis, who was hastily shoving his hand back into his pocket. He gave her an innocent look, which made him seem like someone else entirely, and said:

"Well? Do you want to have her try it or do you want to stand around all day?"

Anathema sighed.

"Let's try it," she said.

_

Crowley was doing 120 mph down M4 when the phone rang. He let go of the steering wheel, flipped open the glove compartment and grabbed his phone, clicking the answer button as he did so.

"Hello? Ah, Anathema... Well, I did tell you. Yes, of course it's your fault. Artemis Fowl?" Crowley narrowly missed a pedestrian, "Of course I've heard of him! He's been on Hell's lists since the age of four! Really? Hmmm... I wonder what he's hiding. I mean, obviously he's hiding something, otherwise he wouldn't bother to look innocent. Yeah, sure, I'll grab Aziraphale and head over there. Where are you? Ireland? What are you doing in Ireland? Wait, one sec..." he flipped his hand over his head and the police cars behind him drifted off the road and came to a gentle but decisive halt, the officers stunned by the lizards that had taken the place of the steering wheels, "Okay. See you. Bye."

Crowley sighed. He had tried his best, he really had. He'd even hooked up with Aziraphale and asked the angel if there was any chance Newt's level of techno-failure could be hereditary. And then he'd flown all the way to the San Francisco. He hated San Francisco. No Bentleys anywhere. All of that Bentley-less effort only to be turned down by Anathema and Newt. Apparently they didn't trust him with their children. Which, he hastened to remind himself, was a good thing. No parent should trust a demon with their child. And no demon should be trustable with a child.

Thirty minutes later the black Bentley was pulled up in front of a vintage bookshop in London. A blond man with a plaid shirt was standing in front, looking slightly irritated.

"Crowley..." he complained, "I was just going through the books. I'm making a catalogue in case I have to find something quickly."

"Then maybe it's a good thing I saved you," the demon replied, straight-faced.

Aziraphale wisely chose to ignore this.

"So, what's the matter? You didn't exactly tell me much on the voice mail. Pretty much just 'We've got a few little urgent matters to attend to that may portend to the fate of the planet. Meet you at the store.'"

"I'll tell you on the way. Hop in."

Aziraphale climbed gingerly into the black 1926 Bentley.

"So, you decide to restore it after all? I thought you said it wouldn't be the same."

"It isn't," Crowley grinned, "I installed a few more... special features."

"Oh, dear," said Aziraphale quietly, "I think I may be in trouble."

_

Twenty-year old Artemis Fowl put his pinkie finger to his ear and spread out the thumb like a child playing telephone.

"Holly?" he whispered, "Are you there?"

"Yes, I'm here," came the reply from the ostentatious ring on his finger, "What's the matter?"

"It's urgent. And I can't talk much. But for now, just know that there are government plans for a dig site at Tara. I've got to go. Bye."

He ignored Holly's futile attempts at continuing the conversation and, with a sigh, ended the call.

He was about to check his email when there was a knock on the door of his study.

"Artemis...?" came Anathema's voice from outside, "Could you come out here? There's a couple of people I'd like you to meet..."


End file.
